Vertigo is like battling to cross a ship over choppy seas. Three weeks of feeling nauseous has left me yearning for solid ground. Day after day the world appears to move in front of me like a metronome on crack while I sway like one that desperately needs a new battery.
I started taking Valium for the dizziness about a week ago. It has not suited me. I'm lazy and unmotivated. By the time I get off work all I want to do is sleep. Worst of all is the constant moral dilemma that I tend to experience. The side of me that feels entitled to take more versus the side of me that still feels a certain level of obligation to what I was taught in AA.
I love the way Valium relieves me from giving a dam about anything. Not that my giving a dam is at all related to the love of man kind, although I really wish it was. It's more selfishness combined with an overall sense of fear of what others think of me; how I must look to the rest of the world and how little I truly think of myself. Yet, with the aid of Valium, my thoughts and obsessions not so much evaporate, but rather blend in with their environment. It doesn't necessarily shut anything off, but it dims it just enough. I feel the presence of my thoughts, but I can no longer see them. Blending feels so much safer. To be one of many seems so much easier than being one of few. At least I know where I stand. Its as if, on my own, without that little pill, those same blending attempts are completely useless. If I can't dim the blinding lights of my own thoughts, then no amount of identity alterations will change what I really am . . . just another crazy, sick idiot lost at sea. But, oh well, it's time to turn that light back on and say goodbye to my little friend. I honestly don't know if my brain serves any purpose in life but checking out doesn't seem like much of an answer.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Wednesday, October 03, 2012
Survival of the Unfittest and the Egyptian Hand-Sewn Tapestry That Will, Most Likely, Never Change My Life
Instincts to me are like this mysterious acquired power; a mystical skill; another fashionable accessory to Darwinism. I hear them spoken of, "what's your instinct telling you?" or "go with your instincts." I just don't get it. My "instincts" are like the head of the Medusa; a thousand little snakes coming from the same damn place, all squirming in opposite directions.
I've continued to cancel plans because my "instincts" tell me that socializing would be a disaster. I eat pizza for breakfast because my "instincts" tell me I need comfort. I move to another city because my "instincts" tell me it would be a fun adventure and that I could handle it, only later do my "instincts" harshly inform me that I made the wrong decision and was actually following my impulses, not my instincts. I drop friends because my "instincts" tell me they're not good for me. I tell people what I think because my "instincts" tell me that I should and then I search for a hole to hide in because my "instincts" tell me I should have kept my fucking mouth shut. Emotional responses, fear, impulses, instincts, reactions . . . am I the only person in this world that feels confused by it all?
I spent an hour picking out a tapestry at a flea market over the weekend after finally accepting that my last poorly chosen, over priced purchase was a massive mistake and stuck out like a big, red, sore thumb in our bedroom. At the time, The Tree of Life seemed like a fantastic idea, especially the turquoise and green one, so much so that I bought the red and orange one instead. I took it home, hung it up over my bed and stared in agony at my big red Tree for a month. After extensive rearranging, 35 different paint swatches and hours on end spent on the computer looking into removable wall paper for our bedroom walls (because the color of the walls were the problem), I decided to take the Tree of Life down. It was making a mockery of our bedroom and taunting me with it's divine, mystical, sacred context.
So I stood in a tent at a flea market next to a very enthusiastic African merchant and stared at 4 tapestries fighting an anxiety attack. There was the yellow and peach one, the bright colorful birds and flowers that lacked symmetry but made up it for it in imagery, the green one with the large butterflies which reminded me of something you'd find at an overly commercialized yoga studio where all the instructors where the same "I love yoga" v-neck t-shirt, and the semi-neutral beige one with black, red and green undertones. I almost bought the bright one with the birds. It seemed right; colorful. Perhaps it would raise my ever-descending mood and part-time suicidal agenda. But was it what I wanted? Would it look good? What would all the other visitors that never come to my house think of it? When I one day have those amazing dinner parties where I'm the life of the party and I share all of the fascinating knowledge I've acquired about politics and women's studies, will this tapestry be consistent with the "I'm totally awesome and have everything together" image I'm trying to portray?
Please, I'm not fooling anyone. I don't cook, never leave the house, I hate people, am bored by politics and can't retain information for the life of me, which totally cancels out the sharing of knowledge since I don't really have any and can't remember what I read on a "store hours" sign 2 minutes ago. Plus, even if I traveled to Egypt and bought a tapestry hand-sewn in pure gold and silk, woven by princesses from the fruits of the Nile, there would not be enough fabulousness in that god dam thing to veil my sour puss ways. But, inevitably, these are still the questions I ask myself. Again, over and over, "what do you like? What do you want? What do you like? What do you want?" and then, "what is the look you are going for? What would be consistent? Fuck, what is the look you're going for? What WOULD be consistent?" Cause, you know, it really helps to emphasize certain words and syllables when trying to establish your identity and make life changing decisions such as what kind of tapestry should be on your ugly bedroom wall.
So, at the very last minute I tossed the blue, asymmetrical birds and bought the beige one. I suffered slight buyers remorse as I placed it on the wall over my bed. If this one doesn't look good, then what?! What does that make me? The bright, asymmetrical birds on the off white wall? The God Damn Tree of Life? Do I trash the tapestry idea all together and hang the fucking head board, ugh but that's far too uniform for my taste. . . right, or is it? Maybe I'm supposed to have a head board at this stage in my life, maybe I am clean cut, sophisticated and structured. Or maybe I'm just a plain white wall with a thousand holes in it.
Medusa leers her ugly head. I have a 100 eyes but none are my own.
I've continued to cancel plans because my "instincts" tell me that socializing would be a disaster. I eat pizza for breakfast because my "instincts" tell me I need comfort. I move to another city because my "instincts" tell me it would be a fun adventure and that I could handle it, only later do my "instincts" harshly inform me that I made the wrong decision and was actually following my impulses, not my instincts. I drop friends because my "instincts" tell me they're not good for me. I tell people what I think because my "instincts" tell me that I should and then I search for a hole to hide in because my "instincts" tell me I should have kept my fucking mouth shut. Emotional responses, fear, impulses, instincts, reactions . . . am I the only person in this world that feels confused by it all?
I spent an hour picking out a tapestry at a flea market over the weekend after finally accepting that my last poorly chosen, over priced purchase was a massive mistake and stuck out like a big, red, sore thumb in our bedroom. At the time, The Tree of Life seemed like a fantastic idea, especially the turquoise and green one, so much so that I bought the red and orange one instead. I took it home, hung it up over my bed and stared in agony at my big red Tree for a month. After extensive rearranging, 35 different paint swatches and hours on end spent on the computer looking into removable wall paper for our bedroom walls (because the color of the walls were the problem), I decided to take the Tree of Life down. It was making a mockery of our bedroom and taunting me with it's divine, mystical, sacred context.
So I stood in a tent at a flea market next to a very enthusiastic African merchant and stared at 4 tapestries fighting an anxiety attack. There was the yellow and peach one, the bright colorful birds and flowers that lacked symmetry but made up it for it in imagery, the green one with the large butterflies which reminded me of something you'd find at an overly commercialized yoga studio where all the instructors where the same "I love yoga" v-neck t-shirt, and the semi-neutral beige one with black, red and green undertones. I almost bought the bright one with the birds. It seemed right; colorful. Perhaps it would raise my ever-descending mood and part-time suicidal agenda. But was it what I wanted? Would it look good? What would all the other visitors that never come to my house think of it? When I one day have those amazing dinner parties where I'm the life of the party and I share all of the fascinating knowledge I've acquired about politics and women's studies, will this tapestry be consistent with the "I'm totally awesome and have everything together" image I'm trying to portray?
Please, I'm not fooling anyone. I don't cook, never leave the house, I hate people, am bored by politics and can't retain information for the life of me, which totally cancels out the sharing of knowledge since I don't really have any and can't remember what I read on a "store hours" sign 2 minutes ago. Plus, even if I traveled to Egypt and bought a tapestry hand-sewn in pure gold and silk, woven by princesses from the fruits of the Nile, there would not be enough fabulousness in that god dam thing to veil my sour puss ways. But, inevitably, these are still the questions I ask myself. Again, over and over, "what do you like? What do you want? What do you like? What do you want?" and then, "what is the look you are going for? What would be consistent? Fuck, what is the look you're going for? What WOULD be consistent?" Cause, you know, it really helps to emphasize certain words and syllables when trying to establish your identity and make life changing decisions such as what kind of tapestry should be on your ugly bedroom wall.
So, at the very last minute I tossed the blue, asymmetrical birds and bought the beige one. I suffered slight buyers remorse as I placed it on the wall over my bed. If this one doesn't look good, then what?! What does that make me? The bright, asymmetrical birds on the off white wall? The God Damn Tree of Life? Do I trash the tapestry idea all together and hang the fucking head board, ugh but that's far too uniform for my taste. . . right, or is it? Maybe I'm supposed to have a head board at this stage in my life, maybe I am clean cut, sophisticated and structured. Or maybe I'm just a plain white wall with a thousand holes in it.
Medusa leers her ugly head. I have a 100 eyes but none are my own.
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